


The Cure For Boredom is Making Friends

by Guanin



Category: Hell's Library, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Asexual Character, Asexual Hero, Asexuality, Crossover, Loki in the afterlife, M/M, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Valhalla
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-21
Updated: 2020-11-21
Packaged: 2021-03-10 04:42:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,090
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27657679
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Guanin/pseuds/Guanin
Summary: Loki was bored, a far too common occurrence in Valhalla. But tonight something interesting finally happened. He met a book. A living, awoken avatar of a book in a beautiful human form and with a sharp tongue to match his own.
Relationships: Loki/Hero
Kudos: 1





	The Cure For Boredom is Making Friends

**Author's Note:**

> This was written before The Archive of the Forgotten, the second installment in the Hell's Library series, came out.

Loki was bored, a far too common occurrence in Valhalla, which wasn’t anywhere near as entertaining as it was presumed to be. Without the threat of death, everyone was too complacent, too at ease. Anyone who died today woke up the next day as if nothing had occurred. Not in another realm, which would have at least broken the monotony, but in the same one. There was no escaping it for long. Muscle-headed idiots fought and mauled each other, drank about it afterwards in the rowdiest, most obnoxious way possible, then did it all again the next day. Thor would love it if he were here, but he remained in the land of the living. Loki would never admit it to anyone, not even under the most painful torture (plenty of which he had already endured, so he was well inured to it), but he hoped that Thor stayed away for a long while. He didn’t wish to be subjected to his presence, obviously. No other reason. 

Loki didn’t always remain in Valhalla. His ability to navigate Yggdrasil hadn’t evaporated with his untimely death, although traveling to non-afterlife realms did prove a bit more difficult now. It was most irritating. Yet it was still possible, if at a cost. He had visited Midgard once out of boredom. It was even more of a mess than the last time he had been there, which was saying a lot, considering his destruction of that human city. 

The memory of being under Thanos’s painful grasp splintered in his mind, mental shards ripping through him. He winced, gasping so tightly it hurt. The wooden mug he held cracked in his violent grip.

“Oi! Don’t go on breaking my mugs.”

Swallowing a low curse, Loki raised his head and smiled beatifically at the barkeep. With a flick of magic, he fixed the mug, giving it a nice, glossy sheen.

“Good as new,” he said in a pleasant tone. 

It didn’t do to piss off the bartenders here. Getting one on your bad side could ruin your whole afterlife if you weren’t careful. The barkeep narrowed his eyes as he picked up the cup, inspecting it with a skeptical eye while making sure that his nearly seven foot bulk loomed over Loki with quiet menace. Loki didn’t grant him the pleasure of quailing. He had fought and defeated much larger beings than him, although he would prefer to avoid violence when it came to Asgardians, which the bartender was. Loki’s reputation had preceded his death, much of it before he had saved the remaining Asgardians. Some of the later tales put him in a more favorable light, which granted him some relief from random attacks by blustery idiots who thought it’d be fun to use him as a punching bag, but he still had to tread carefully. The people here looked for any excuse for a fight. Loki would have preferred to end up in Hel if it weren’t so damp. 

“Just don’t break it again,” the bartender warned, putting the mug down before stalking away, shaking his head as if Loki were the biggest nuisance in his afterlife. Loki mentally filed him away as neutral, neither friendly nor hostile. 

A movement to his right caught his attention. A tall figure, so pale he was almost white, sat down at the opposite end of the bar. Only his eyes and hair were bright with color, a deep green of rolling hills and a brazen copper. The book who had defeated Uther the giant in single combat. The healers had tended to his broken wrist and the many deep cuts that had bled black ink into the sand of the arena, but he was still recovering, given his pallor. He would gain his proper color back eventually. Actually, he should have already. Why had he had to resort to healers? He should have slipped back into his book as soon as the duel was done, if not before. That’s what happened to the avatars of awakened books, which this person was. A book manifested as a single character from its story, yet with complete knowledge of itself. Injury forced them to sink back into their pages. They emerged healed, if they emerged at all. Surely the librarian he traveled with wasn’t worth dying over. 

They had made quite the fuss when they arrived a couple of hours ago. A librarian from Hell’s branch of the vast, inter-realm library that housed every work ever written and unwritten, two demons, a muse, and a book made flesh. Loki couldn’t be bothered to care about what quest had brought them here. Something to do with Heaven, from the sounds of it. Politics between living realms had been annoying enough. He didn’t need to embroil himself in divine ones. He had enjoyed the duel, though. The book’s, not the librarian’s. He hadn’t paid much attention to hers. The character, on the other hand, had caught his attention. To gain entry into Valhalla, you had to prove yourself worthy. For those not of Asgardian or Norse tradition, that meant fighting a duel. The librarian had dueled Bjorn the Bard with words while the book provided the necessary martial component. He’d almost been defeated. Only a last minute intervention from the librarian had saved him. As it was, he had been so battered that he’d passed out as soon as he killed Uther. 

He was called Hero. Who called their character “Hero”? Unless he gave himself the name. In which case, he was trying much too hard to appear heroic. Not even Thor in his most swollen head days would have gone for such an affectation. Could it be that this character was merely pretending to be the hero of his story? From what Loki had heard, the book had hardly been eager to step in as the librarian’s white knight. Now what kind of character would possibly indulge in such a pretense?

The book ordered an ale with a practiced smile of charmed annoyance, a much too familiar affectation. A grin grew on Loki’s face. Well, well. Perhaps something interesting was finally happening in this wasteland of soldiery idiocy. Picking up his mug, Loki strolled down the bar and slid onto the stood beside the book, who glanced at him from the corner of his eye with veiled suspicion. 

“If you’re looking to gawk,” Hero said, “I’m not in the mood.”

His accent was non-descript English, refined, yet just a bit forced, as if he’d grown up sounding too common for the position he aspired to. What story did he come from? A fantasy or a historical given his pseudo-medieval attire. Was he a peasant turned noble? Humans loved that sort of tale. 

“Not at all,” Loki replied. “I have no ulterior motives, I assure you.”

Hero snorted skeptically through his nose.

“Said exactly like someone who has precisely that.”

“Well, it takes one to know one, doesn’t it?”

Hero’s expression didn’t alter, but his skin grew a hint paler, the slightest shadow. If Loki hadn’t been looking for it, he would have missed it. Book’s avatars were so easy to read, their emotions clinging to their muted skins and colors, which brightened or dulled at the slightest whiff of feeling to those who knew how to read them. For the millennium in which he had been alive, Loki had prided himself in being a scholar, and so he knew their tricks much better than most, the curators of the inter-realm library excepted. Hell’s librarian was little more than a child, much too young to be in charge if she seriously believed that the character she was trusting was a hero. 

“There’s no point in denying it,” Loki said, cutting off Hero’s urge to dissemble. “It will only waste time.”

Hero raised the mug to his lips as if they were having an idle chat, but he held himself tensed for a fight. 

“What does it matter to you?” Hero said, voice dripping with disdain. “Looking to curry favor with the librarians by turning me in, are you?”

Loki scrunched up his face as if he’d bitten something sour.

“Why would I want to do that? On the contrary. It amuses me that you’ve pulled the wool over your eyes, although calling yourself “Hero” is a little much, don’t you think?”

Hero looked put out by Loki’s reasonable observation.

“It did the trick,” he said. “It’s a good a name as any, anyway.”

“You don’t like the one your author gave you?”

“That’s none of your business. Speaking of names, it’s rather rude for you to insult mine without even doing me the courtesy of introducing yourself.”

“Apologies. I’m Loki, son of Odin.”

His tongue stumbled before adding the last bit. It had not been an easy transition to referring to Odin as his father with such ease again, or at all. Lies and resentments still cut too deep, but the longer he was in Valhalla, the more he came to believe that this was only on his side. He had kidnapped Odin, buried his memory, banished him to Earth, burned him with the full might of his anger, and yet Odin’s tranquil amusement at Loki tricking him hadn’t bred dreadful repercussions. Loki had spent the year he’d been here dreading that Odin would pull the rug from under his feet despite mother’s reassurances, yet Odin remained amiable. Fatherly, even. It was disconcerting. Mother thought that Loki was being too guarded, like she always did, but doing so had kept him alive. Then again, it had also gotten him killed more than once. 

Still, he preferred to not dwell on it too deeply. What benefit could be gained from doing so? Using the patronymic meant nothing. It was simply the custom, a politeness to ingratiate himself with Hero, as well as impress him, of course. Although, apart from a surprised eyebrow lift and a short pause, Hero didn’t look remotely cowed by Loki’s lineage. Instead, he scoffed. Scoffed!

“The trickster god?” Hero said, an insolent grin on his face, the cheeky bastard. “God of lies. Didn’t you impersonate your father to take his throne? Yeah, sure you have no ulterior motives. I believe you. Truly.”

“There’s no need to be quite so sarcastic,” Loki did not grumble. “Given how you’re a villain in your own story, I highly doubt that you haven’t done something equally as nefarious. Let’s see.” Loki inspected Hero’s raiment with an elaborate show of precision. “A fantasy universe? The main villain is usually a corrupt aristocrat or a king.”

“A king. And I wasn’t corrupt.”

Hero’s eyes flared with anger, his whole form bristling with it. Loki grinned with delight. Temper, temper. 

“But you did oppress the populace. You must have. All the villains in these stories are the same, especially the unwritten ones. Or was murder your crime?”

“Was it yours?”

“Perhaps. You don’t want to answer the question?”

“I did what I had to do in order to get revenge on those _heroes_ who killed my friend.” 

Oh, what delicious contempt dripped off that word. 

“You’ll get no judgment on the matter of revenge from me. I’m intimately familiar with it.”

“Was that why you took dear old dad’s throne?”

“Of course. I certainly didn’t do it because I adore sitting in meetings about the grain trade.”

A mocking smirk jerked on Hero’s face. 

“But it’s such riveting entertainment. So much blah blah blah about costs and crop blights and which noble is overselling their stock.”

“And who cursed whose crops so they would grow too slowly to make it to market.”

“We didn’t have that problem. Are you sure you didn’t do it?”

“And make my life harder? No. In the old days, sure. Always a spot of fun. But ruling was not.”

Hero frowned like a storm brewing in the horizon.

“No, it’s not.”

“Why did you become king, then?”

“Who’s to say I had a choice?”

“Your speech. Your accent is too precise. You’re trying too hard to sound like you’re higher-born than you actually are.”

Hero’s frown deepened. For a tense moment, he looked like he would get up and walk away, but instead he grabbed his drink and knocked it back like he didn’t have a care in the world.

“I’ve heard it all from the noble pissants I rule,” he said, his accent unaffected except for a slight change in the “I”. “I don’t care. Fat lot of good it did the king I got rid of being high born. And I didn’t do it out of ambition. He was the corrupt one. That’s why I overthrew him.”

“And yet you’re the villain in the tale.”

“It got complicated. And why is this all so very interesting to you, anyway?”

“Truth be told, I’m bored.”

Hero raised a mocking brow at him.

“Bored? Isn’t this supposed to be paradise?”

“If you’re a dunderhead who thinks there’s nothing greater in life than getting your head smashed in and drinking all day and night, sure. It’s marvelous. I happen to think that there’s far more interesting things in life. Or rather, death, than that. Art. Reading. Traveling to other realms.”

“You can travel to other realms?”

Keen interest flared in Hero’s eyes, a hunger to escape that Loki knew too well. An idea began flowering in his mind.

“Yes, I can,” Loki said seductively. “I’ve been wandering the secret paths for centuries, most of which have been long forgotten. Undetected, as well.”

Hero idly rubbed his mug with his thumb, considering. 

“How nice it must be to go wherever you want,” he said, face darkening, bitterness in his voice as he raised the mug to his lips and took a long swig, as if seeking to drown himself in it. “No one to tie you down. To force you back in a shelf.”

Loki had come across an escaped character before in Vanaheim, desperate to live outside of the sorry fate their author had concocted for them. He had felt sorry for them. Not enough to stop the librarian who stuffed them back in their book before returning them to their library, but still. The matter hadn’t been interesting enough to him then, philosophically speaking. Not that it’d become so now, not quite, but he could sympathize. Relate. 

“I was condemned to languish in prison for the rest of my life,” Loki said. “Stuck in a little cell. Nothing to do but read and wither. But I got out.”

Hero raised his mug in a mock toast. 

“Congratulations. I’m so happy for you.”

His sass was starting to get annoying. 

“What I’m saying is, don’t concede defeat so early. There’s always a way out if you’re clever enough.”

Hero raised his left hand, exposing his wrist.

“The librarian stamped me,” he said. “I’m chained to her will whenever she feels like summoning me back to her library. Do you have a way out of that?”

She had stamped him? The intricacies of how library magic worked was a bit outside Loki’s knowledge base. Hero’s skin was unmarked, so the stamp must have faded away on the outside, seeping into his body. 

“Stamped you how?”

“She siphoned some of her blood onto a stamp, did a spell, and stamped me with it on the wrist. I’m part of Special Collections now, part of the interlibrary loan system. She can shunt me from any library wing to any other one. Even now, she could do it with her tools of office. I have no say in it.”

Was that what an interlibrary loan entailed? Loki had made use of it, but he had never imagined that it involved harnessing a book so cruelly. 

“Blood magic is tricky,” Loki said. “May I see the stamp?”

Hero’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. 

“I’m not going to do anything to you,” Loki said firmly, yet gently. “I just want to check the stamp. I might be able to help.”

“Because you’re so bored and I amuse you?”

Loki glared at him.

“If you’d rather run back to your librarian to fight to the death or dance like a monkey or whatever else she forces you to do, be my guest.”

Hero held his gaze for a moment longer before sighing dramatically and extending his arm toward Loki.

“Why the hell not?” he muttered under his breath. 

Loki laid Hero’s arm on the counter and touched the inside of his wrist, encasing it with his palm. The magic of the stamp hummed against Loki’s own instantly, like sunlight reflecting off a mirror, and just as potent. Blood magic was a tricky craft to master, much less implement, not an item of first resort. The librarian must be really invested in preventing Hero from running off. Most people didn’t think much of books’ avatars. They considered them to be mere manifestations of their works, pretty objects who could talk. Automatons, essentially, a reflection of life but never its equal. Only a system built on this premise could possibly believe that trapping a character in this manner was acceptable. Indignant on Hero’s behalf, Loki focused on the nature of the magic in the stamp, teasing out its specific signature. The stamp rose to the surface of Hero’s skin, glowing crimson in the shape of an ordinary bureaucratic stamp with the letters IWL in the center before fading a moment later. 

“It’s tricky,” Loki said, continuing to examine the stamp. “But masking it is possible.”

“Masking it?”

Hero’s tone sharpened, urgent. 

“I have something that can shield your existence from the librarian and the library. It won’t server the connection. Blood magic is too strong for that. But it will weaken it to the point where she can’t summon you.”

“How long will it last?”

“Forever, if you want it too. It will become part of you, like the stamp. I’ve never known it to fail.”

Hero’s eyes shone, his hope desperate.

“And you will simply give me this precious item?” he asked, skeptical once more. “What will I have to give you in exchange?”

Loki smiled.

“Given how this is such a rare and difficult substance to acquire, how about you owe me a favor?”

Hero’s eyes hardened.

“That’s too vague and you know it.”

“You won’t have to kill anyone.”

Hero turned back to his drink.

“Not good enough.”

“Nothing nefarious at all.”

“What then? Walk your dog?”

“I haven’t decided yet. But no. I don’t have a dog.”

“No deal, then.”

“Would you rather remain the librarian’s lapdog, then? Maybe the next time she makes you fight a duel, you will die. Very possibly cease to exist. I couldn’t help but notice that there are angels after your little party, and not low ranking ones, either. I doubt that your world prepared you to fight the likes of them.”

Hero lowered his mug. It knocked on the wooden counter with a thunk as hollow and sullen as the frown burning in his brow. He knew that Loki offered the better option. Why would he turn down the chance for freedom when it was so close to his grasp?

“Alright, we have a deal,” Hero said.

Yes! Loki masked his excitement to not grin from ear to ear. 

“One favor,” Hero continued. “That’s it.”

“Of course. I promise.”

Hero raised a skeptical brow.

“A promise from the god of lies? I’m so reassured. Not suspicious in the least. Truly.”

Loki sighed. It was so much easier when his reputation didn’t precede him. Ordinarily, he wouldn’t bother jumping through so many hoops if it weren’t for something important, but he had been hungering for just this sort of encounter with a book for ages, much less one as easy on the eyes as this one. A smart one, too. It was too good an opportunity to pass up just to try to glean extra benefit out of it. 

“One favor,” he said. “I swear on my honor as a sorcerer, which I hold in high regard, I assure you.”

Hero didn’t look entirely convinced, but he shrugged.

“Okay,” Hero said. “There’s one more thing. The librarian has my book. She’s keeping it hostage so I don’t run away. And my catalog card. She can track me with that.”

“How prescient of her. Do you know where exactly she keeps them?”

“In her bag. I take it you can get them back.”

Loki grinned.

“Child’s play. Where is she now? With the bard?”

“Last I knew.”

A quick sweep of the bar revealed no members of Hero’s party in sight. There were two others apart from the librarian, a muse, two demons. They might all be with the librarian, but most likely at least one of them would be prowling the hall. 

“Wait here,” Loki said. “I’ll be right back with your book and the card.”

A question flickered in Hero’s face, but he said nothing. Wise of him to know that it would only waste valuable time. Duplicating himself, Loki left a double sitting at the bar and transformed into a tiny fly. He whizzed over the crowd towards Bjorn’s house. 

“Why are you still sitting there?” Hero asked back at the bar.

“I’m not,” Loki said through his double. “I turned myself into a fly and flew away. Didn’t you notice?”

Loki’s doubles weren’t fully capable, so he couldn’t get a good look at Hero’s face, but his surprise was evident. 

“Now shush,” Loki said. “I need to focus.”

The muse and one of the demons pushed their way through the crowd near the hall’s entrance, searching, probably for Hero. Loki needed to hurry. Doubling his speed, he ducked under the awning, evading the ravens perched on the roof, and swooped off into the night through the city of the dead. It wasn’t really called that. It didn’t have a name, really. It wasn’t even shaped like a proper city, more a lose collection of edifices since the population of Valhalla was expected to spend most of its time in the feast hall, drinking and fighting through eternity. Really, who had come up with such a dull concept for an afterlife? If Loki didn’t escape on occasion, he’d go mad from boredom. 

Bjorn’s house wasn’t far from the hall. Shirking into a diminutive insect, Loki shot under the front door and followed the voices to the bard’s private library. Loki had patronized said library many times before. As a former librarian of the Unwritten Wing, Bjorn was one of the more interesting inhabitants of Valhalla, a good source of fascinating conversation and reading recommendations. It was a pity that Loki would have to steal something from one of his guests under his roof, but needs must. Separating a character from their book was just cruel. Loki didn’t care what librarian protocol had to say about it. 

The two librarians were arguing in the middle of the room about Heaven and Hell and other foreign realm nonsense that Loki didn’t care about. He’d never wanted to be king for the politics. Being smothered under bickering over policies and bruised egos had almost made him regret enacting his cunning plan of revenge. 

The librarian’s bag sat on the floor in front of a bookcase. Loki slipped inside. 

Pens. A dog-eared notebook. A rolled up toolkit made of leather. An ink bottle. Books that didn’t feel remotely like Hero.

Ah. There it was, tucked into a side pocket, a distinct leather cover matching the forest green of Hero’s eyes. The instant Loki touched it, a surge of Hero’s characteristic essence permeated Loki’s body, like scent on a flower. Shrinking it to a size that he could carry in this form, Loki grabbed the book between his legs and snuck out of the bag, the librarians none the wiser. 

He zipped back to the feasting hall. The muse and the human-demon had crept closer to Hero, worryingly close to finding him. With a final burst of speed, Loki landed on his double, evaporating it as he resumed his usual form. 

“Voila,” he announced, enlarging the book as he placed it before Hero, who looked amazed. Had he actually doubted that Loki could do it? “We need to go. Your companions are closing in on our location.”

Hero didn’t respond immediately, entranced by the book, which he’d swiftly grabbed, carefully examining the cover as if to ensure that it was his. After a moment, he nodded, standing up from his stool.

“Let’s go,” he said with fierce determination. 

Loki stood up as well and led him away from the bar in the opposite direction that Hero’s companions were coming from. As they moved, he cast an illusion over Hero, subtly altering aspects of his physique until his hair was a bright blonde and he was shorter than Loki, his face unrecognizable.

“What are doing to me?” Hero asked, more exasperated than alarmed. 

“Disguising you. Isn’t that obvious. Don’t worry. It’s not permanent.”

“It better not be. I don’t like you looming over me.”

Loki hid a grin. No one remarked on them as they nudged their way through the crowd. If anyone did, they’d likely assume that Loki had found himself a companion for the night and think nothing else of it. To aid with this perception, he slung an arm low around Hero’s back and pretended to murmur something in his ear. Hero stiffened immediately, jerking away half a step before falling back in step. 

“What are you doing?”

Now he did sound alarmed. Hadn’t he shown interest in Loki’s form earlier? Loki was sure he had. Such an admiring gaze was unmistakable. Although, perhaps the matter wasn’t as simple as Loki had assumed. 

“Giving us a cover story,” Loki whispered, then trailed his fingers over Hero’s waist so the motion would look natural, but he barely grazed Hero’s jacket. He took Hero’s hand and tugged him out of the hall’s back entrance. Hero didn’t seem entirely at ease, but he stopped looking like he wanted to yell at Loki for the impertinence. 

As soon as they exited the hall, Loki shifted his hand to Hero’s bicep in a less amorous hold. 

“I’m going to transport us,” Loki said. “You might feel a little dizzy.”

“What—”

Before Hero could finish his question, Loki whisked them away to the storage room where he kept his magical artifacts. Hero swerved on his feet, his hands flying to his sword, half drawing it out of his scabbard as he looked around him as if he were being attacked. He only relaxed when he noticed Loki holding his hands up as if he were calming a frightened horse, which was a fair comparison. Not that Hero agreed, given the annoyance that thundered on his face when he straightened to his full, peeved height and sheathed his sword. 

“Where are we?” he asked, frowning at the stocked shelves around them. “And could you possibly give me more than a second’s warning next time?”

“So sorry. But time is of the essence, after all. We’re in my hall. Not the most impressive of rooms for a first impression, I must admit, but it’s where I keep what you seek.”

Loki crossed the room to open one of the cabinets, which was brimming with glassware and wooden boxes. Now where had he put that vial?

“I don’t believe that you’re sorry,” Hero grumbled.

“Perhaps not. Surely you don’t expect the God of Mischief to miss such a golden opportunity to put such an amusing expression on your face, do you?”

Loki sensed more than saw Hero’s annoyed eye roll. 

“Why didn’t you bring us straight here from the bar?”

“I can’t transport myself this way in the feasting hall due to the protections on it. It has a ward against unwanted visitors. Not even the gods of the realm can circumvent it.”

Hero shuffled behind him, impatiently pacing around the room, but he stayed silent as Loki continued to dig through the drawers. 

Magic flared through the room, burning as bright as a blazing inferno. Hero stumbled, crashing against a cabinet, the rattling of the glass echoing against the walls.

“Loki,” he gasped through clenched teeth, terrified. “Something’s happening.”

Loki turned around. Hero clung fiercely to the cabinet, which was the only thing holding him up, and the stamp burned on his wrist a vicious crimson. His colors were leaching into the air like steam, wisps of copper and pink vanishing into vapor.

“The librarian is trying to recall you,” Loki said, panicking as he returned to the cabinet. Damn it, it had to be here somewhere. 

“She’s what?” Hero gasped. “Aw, fuck! Where the hell is that thing you’re going to give me?”

“I’m looking,”

“Look faster! I’m fading away here.”

The edges of his body shimmered, as insubstantial as fog. If he faded now, Loki might never be able to get him back. Growling, he dug into the drawers with renewed fervor, throwing items to the floor. Some shattered, but he didn’t have time to care.

There! Finally! A long, slim jar, vacuum sealed. Inside lied a slender feather, the mottled brown of tree bark, as plain and unremarkable as it was possible to be. Yanking the cork out, Loki extracted it, ran across the room, and grabbed Hero’s forearm. Summoning a knife, he slashed at Hero’s wrist right through the glowing stamp.

“Ow! What are you doing?” Hero yelled.

Ignoring him, Loki slapped the feather on the gash. Black blood soaked the feather, but the stamp continued to glow. Hero was already halfway to the librarian’s location, his arm as soft as pudding under Loki’s hand. Was it too late? No! It couldn’t be! Hero was the first interesting person Loki had encountered in ages. He was clever and gorgeous and was neither intimidated by Loki nor treated him like dirt at the bottom of his shoe. And Loki understood Hero’s fierce determination to free himself from those who demanded that he shut up about what he wanted and do what he was told. 

The feather burned under Loki’s hand, scalding him, the two magics, the librarian’s and the feather’s, battling for dominance. Hero panted, teeth gritted, trembling in pain and desperation, his body a curled up, screaming plea to be spared. Loki’s chest clenched, hard, memories shattering his thoughts. 

Hanging from Gungnir before sinking into the abyss. 

Held prisoner at the cruel mercy of the mind stone. 

Breathing out one last, aching exhale as Thanos crushed his windpipe. 

Hero grabbed his arm, yanking him back to the present. His hand wavered, but it was strong, solidifying more every second. His hair began to lose its ashen look, returning to its former copper. He no longer looked like a black and white photograph, but like himself. It was now the stamp that was dimming, melting away under the magic of the feather, which melded into Hero’s flesh, absorbed by his blood. Soon it was completely buried under his skin, its imprint replacing the stamp, which winked out, not gone, but dormant, its power blocked by the feather’s camouflage. Hero’s hold on Loki’s arm lessened, no longer crushing as he gaped at his wrist, gasping.

“It… It worked?”

Frantic eyes locked onto Loki’s, pleading for the answer he sought, gleaming with vibrant green that had been ashen a moment before. They really were quite striking eyes. Loki nodded, releasing Hero’s wrist.

“It worked,” he said, smiling, and not just for show. “The librarian can’t connect with the stamp now, not while the feather protects you. It comes from a rare bird, nigh impossible to find. It is often thought to be invisible due to its incredible cloaking abilities.”

Hero let go of Loki. Loki missed the pressure instantly. 

“It worked,” Hero repeated, a delighted statement this time. 

A happy laugh escaped his lips, as pretty as a bubbling brook. Loki had a feeling that he didn’t often laugh like this, with such genuine joy and triumph.

“She can’t find me,” Hero continued. “No more warden. No more library. No more constantly looking over my shoulder in case she’s using that wretched calling card to find me. No more fighting stupid duels that have nothing to do with me because I’m convenient muscle. I can go wherever I want. Do whatever I want.”

Loki was grinning now. 

“It’s a glorious feeling, isn’t it? Breathing the free air.”

It was the only upside of the afterlife. No more having to carve himself a space out of the box his father had stuffed him in since he was a baby. 

“I really do owe you for this,” Hero said.

His gaze was earnest, not skeptical like at the bar. Even after he’d accepted Loki’s offer, he had been on his guard, expecting the God of Lies to deceive him. It was naïve not to suspect so in most cases, so Loki was far from hurt by the assumption. On the contrary, it showed that Hero wasn’t a fool. Loki would lose interest far too quickly if he was. Even the most beautiful people in the universe weren’t worth the time if they bored you out of your mind.

“We already agreed that you owe me a favor,” Loki said. 

“I don’t intend to be stingy about it. What favor, though? I don’t like being in people’s debt, even when it is well worth it.”

Was he so eager to be rid of Loki already? Hm. That wouldn’t do. Loki stepped towards the door and pushed it open.

“I haven’t made up my mind yet. Besides, there’s no hurry, is there?”

Hero followed him into the corridor.. 

“Not to an immortal god, I suppose. Even a dead one. You have all the time in the world.”

“So do you, as long as you don’t get yourself killed.”

“That is my highest priority. I don’t make a habit of engaging in noble duels against literal giants who want to smash my head in.”

“It really was awfully cruel of the librarian to force you to do that. Don’t worry. My favor won’t involve you risking your life like that again.”

Hero frowned, skeptical, but he didn’t argue. 

“I won’t bother asking you to stipulate this in writing,” he said instead. “You don’t seem like the type who would care about abiding by such niceties.”

Loki stopped walking and turned around, meeting Hero’s eyes.

“My people deal more in oaths than written contracts. Would it ease your mind if I swore on something valuable to me?”

Hero narrowed his eyes, considering the proposal. 

“Why do I have the feeling that you’ve broken those, too?”

“Not broken. Maybe bent the nature of the wording a little. But I won’t do so this time, I promise.”

Hero snorted. The most adorable dimples formed at the corners of his mouth.

“Very reassuring,” he said, voice spiced with sarcasm. “How could I ever doubt you now?”

Loki grinned, then sobered, growing grave as these occasions required.

“I won’t force you to engage in any manner of violent altercation not of your own choosing, nor will I force you to kill or harm anyone. I swear on the name of Frigga, my mother.”

The amused expression on Hero’s face melted away, replaced by utter shock. His mouth opened, but no sound came out. 

“The texts in the Unwritten Wing,” he finally said, airy with disbelief, “say that you’re very close to your mother.”

“They’re correct. I want to leave no doubt that I’m telling the truth. I’m not actually the God of Lies. That’s petty name calling. So. Do you believe me now?”

Hero gaped for a moment longer before he closed his mouth and regarded Loki with quiet contemplation, scrutinizing his face as if seeing him for the first time.

“I do,” he said. 

“Good.”

Loki turned to continue walking toward the staircase at the end of the hall.

“Why?”

He stopped, facing Hero again.

“Why what?”

“That’s a pretty big oath you just made, not the kind you make to just anyone.”

“It seemed to be the only way to keep you from mistrusting everything I say.”

“And why is that so damn important to you?”

“Believe it or not, having people think you’re lying every time you open your mouth gets old really fast.”

“Okay, I can see that. But why are you being so nice to me at all? This feather you gave me.” He touched his wrist, fingers slipping inside his sleeve where the imprint of the feather lingered still. “You said it was very difficult to acquire. It doesn’t sound like the sort of thing you give to someone you just met.”

“It wasn’t a gift. We just brokered a trade for it.”

“Sure. Even with the stipulations, you could still ask a lot from me in return. So maybe it will be an even deal. And maybe you really are just monumentally bored. But you want something more, don’t you?”

“Well, I was enjoying your conversation at the bar, but it’s getting a little annoying now.”

“Is it that I’m a book? You’re a scholar. You must find interacting with one fascinating. Isn’t that so?”

There was no way for Loki to deny that, but would it be offensive to admit to it? He hadn’t considered how Hero would feel about it. 

“Is it a kink of yours?” Hero hissed. 

Loki’s thoughts froze.

“What?”

Hero’s eyes blazed as he leaned an inch closer, somehow looming over Loki despite their similar heights, with no regard of the power of whom he was not so subtly threatening. 

“I have no interest in sharing your bed in the manner which you implied as we left the hall.”

Oh. 

Oh! Of course. How had that slipped Loki’s mind?

“That is not my intention,” he said sincerely. It had crossed his mind at the bar, but admitting that might make things worse. “I meant to apologize for making you uncomfortable earlier. I didn’t mean to. I’m not the sort of person who takes advantage of someone that way. I mistook the way you regarded me when I first sat next to you. I’m sorry.”

The guarded expression burning in Hero’s eyes lessened, but didn’t evaporate completely. He looked away, a quick flicker, before turning to Loki again, examining him for signs of deceit. After a long while, his shoulders sagged a fraction.

“I accept your apology,” he said, turning away, yet he rubbed restlessly at the hilt of his sword with his thumb. He seemed to tire a day in the span of a second, his eyes growing heavy with exhaustion, his posture flagging. Had he truly feared so much that Loki would demand this of him against his wishes? Loki kicked himself. He really had meant to apologize earlier. This wasn’t the sort of misunderstanding that he enjoyed being involved in. He shouldn’t have even attempted the charade in the first place without asking permission, but he’d assumed that Hero would enjoy it. He was wrong. He saw that now. Guilt was nowhere near as unfamiliar a feeling as he pretended it to be, and it stung him now like a mosquito stabbing between his eyes. 

“So where are you leading me, then?” Hero asked. “Are you giving me a house tour?”

He spoke with a pale shadow of the lightness with which he’d bantered with Loki at the bar, forced nonchalance that wouldn’t fool a troll. A commoner didn’t rise to become king without being skilled at deceit, so he must be particularly shaken up to make such a poor job of it. Surely it couldn’t be just because of this, could it? Almost dying wrecked most people’s composure, and the interrupted library recall had looked acutely painful. 

“Hall, not house,” Loki said, following his lead as he started going up the stairs. No need to antagonize him further after he’d stepped his foot so royally in it. “A prince of Asgard is hardly going spend his afterlife in a regular house. I thought you’d like to have a rest somewhere more comfortable than the store room. Unless you’re one of those rustic types who claims that sleeping on the floor toughens you up.”

“I was a rustic type, actually. A real one. I did my fair share of sleeping on the floor, but whether or not it toughened me up, I have no idea. It was miserable and cold. No one who is used to that would turn down the option of a comfortable bed.”

His disdain of the aristocracy tasted like acid in his voice. 

“I agree. There’s been many a time when I’ve had nowhere to sleep other than a hard, stone floor.”

“Really? I wouldn’t think that gods would have to deal with that. Was this when they imprisoned you?”

“No.” A phantom hand clutched his throat in an iron vice. He barely kept his breath from shaking before banishing that terror deep to the back of his mind. “Not in prison. There are many things that us gods have to endure that would chill your blood.”

Hero didn’t reply. Wise man, for this was not a question that Loki was willing to answer. 

They arrived at the top of the staircase. The main hall stretched out before them, a mix between Vanir and Asgardian architecture. When Loki arrived in Valhalla, everyone assumed that he’d move into the royal palace. Why not? That’s where all the other royals and great personages went, always eager to be as close to the seat of power as possible. Odin and Frigga weren’t the only monarchs in residence. Bor and his queen had been there for a long time, so it was more of a shared throne now. Loki wasn’t certain whether to consider them his grandparents. He had grown up thinking that they were, but he’d never known them before now. It was hard enough mending fences with Odin, something which he had never envisioned happening when he was alive, without them hovering in the wings, wondering about this Jotun foundling whom Odin had brought to Asgard. There were no other Jotuns in Valhalla. They had their own death realm, one that Asgardians couldn’t reach easily, and not without permission. Strictly speaking, Loki shouldn’t be in Valhalla at all, not with his blood, yet here he was. Mother had probably made sure that he’d end up here. She was far more devious and capable than Odin ever was. No matter how it happened, Loki was overjoyed not to be in the Jotun afterlife. This one was far more to his tastes, idiots killing each other notwithstanding. 

The residence he’d built for himself had only been a Norse hall when he arrived, a foundation to be molded into whatever he wished. After all, it wouldn’t be much of paradise if one was stuck with whatever happened to be available. He’d transformed the oak beams into Vanir wood the hue of light grey ash and raised the roof so that light poured in through the windows set high on the walls, illuminating the entire hall, along with some help from the enchanted lamps, which burned like fireflies in the evenings. The long space bore a arched ceiling, which was painted with the images of stories of Vanir’s past before it had been conquered by Asgard, whose own history didn’t feel appropriate now that it was all suspect.

Loki peered at Hero from the corner of his eye to gauge his reaction. Wonder sparkled in Hero’s eyes as he examined the lofty arches and the intricate designs on the nearest column, a sight that made Loki tuck away a grin of satisfaction and admiration, for it made Hero’s beauty even more alluring. He’d just made it clear that he was not interested in such admiration, so Loki was careful not to show it. Yet Hero had regarded Loki with more than curiosity back at the feasting hall. Loki was sure of it. He had too much experience with having such gazes directed his way to have mistaken it. 

Maybe he had merely been wrong about what kind of interest it was. Something more nuanced, perhaps. Nothing that Loki could ask him about now. That would be insensitive and rude, two things that Loki normally didn’t mind being but which might prove disastrous now. He wanted Hero to like him. Hero wouldn’t be amenable to anything more than their transaction if he didn’t, and Loki would be back to being bored out of his mind. Patience was key with this one. That wasn’t a problem. Even more than when he was alive, Loki had nothing but time. 

“What do you think?” Loki asked. “Is there anything like this in your book?”

“No. We build our palaces out of stone. They don’t look anything like this.” 

Hero reached out to touch a column, grazing it with his fingertips, his long fingers a fetching sight. 

“What kind of wood is this?” he asked. “It feels different somehow.”

“It’s from the ash tree of Vanaheim, where my mother is from. People there say that it’s a relative of the Tree of Life, though I haven’t been able to verify this one way or another. Newer aristocratic buildings there are usually made of stone, but wood is more traditional. Nor is it any less hardy. This wood is so strong that only magical blades can pierce it, and it takes highly skilled carpenters to work it.”

“Is the design also from Vanaheim? It looks like a much nicer version of the feast hall. I thought that was Norse.”

“Asgard isn’t the only realm that has influenced Earth.”

Old resentment bit Loki’s tone. Asgard had always been so sure of its preeminence in the Nine Realms, so convinced that its ways were better, grander, much worthier of imitation than anyone else’s. Valhalla was as much a construct of the Vanir as it was of Asgard, yet only one realm got all the credit for it. 

“Maybe I’ll take you to Vanaheim sometime,” Loki said, his tone belying his mood. “It’s well worth the visit. Much more beautiful than Asgard ever was, to be honest.”

“Was?” 

For the first time since they’d arrived at the hall, Hero turned those sharp eyes toward Loki, his frown bearing more than just confusion. Loki’s chest tightened, a treacherous memory flashing in his mind. 

Dropping Surtur’s crown in the eternal flame. Running through the crumbling walls of the only home he’d ever known as fire swallowed it up.

“You weren’t given a full account of recent events, I take it?” Loki asked, not betraying one bit of his discomfort.

“Well, the book I spoke to was unwritten. Therefore, the author hasn’t finished it yet.”

Hero had spoken to the book, not simply read it. Of course. How was that done? Could Hero delve into other books? Surely not. That felt much too intrusive. Then again, it might not be. Loki knew so little about how books worked, how they truly functioned and interacted among themselves. He’d love to ask now, to cling to this momentary, fascinating distraction, but it would be rude not to answer Hero’s query first.

“Ragnarök came. The end of days. Nothing remains. It was all destroyed at the hands of Surtur, as he was fated to do.”

 _Yet he was only able to do so by my hand_ , Loki thought, shivering. 

“Fated?” 

Hero’s upset tone made Loki turn to him. He looked affronted. Or afraid. 

“You mean to say,” Hero continued, “that some things are meant to happen? I thought that kind of thing was only touted about in books, not this world.”

A grim smile jerked on Loki’s lips. 

“Where do you think people got the idea?”

“There really was nothing you could do? Nothing at all?”

“What a hopeful world you come from if you think that there’s always something you can do.”

“I didn’t say that. And my world isn’t hopeful at all.”

Hero rubbed at his left wrist, thumb digging right where the feather was still faintly visible. His need for clarification wasn’t about Asgard, but his own future. 

“If it was fated for books,” Loki said, “to remain on bookshelves, no one would ever read them.”

“Not according to my former warden. Good, little books stay on their shelves.”

“Might as well. Who wants to read a good, little book, anyway? It sounds dreadful.”

“Is that what you want to do? Read me?”

Hero was guarded again, not as vehemently as earlier, but still too on edge for Loki’s comfort. How had he stepped into it this time?

“I didn’t mean… How exactly could I read you, anyway?”

“You can read my book easily enough.” 

Hero extracted the book from his jacket and flipped open the cover, yet he held the tome at an angle that hid the pages from Loki’s view. 

“I’m not familiar with the etiquette concerning this, but I assumed that it would be rude to do so.”

“So you didn’t sneak a peek when you retrieved it for me?”

“No.”

“You didn’t happen to glance at a page, by _accident_?”

“I found the book closed and I kept it closed for the entire flight. I didn’t so much as lift the cover, I assure you.”

Hero kept his eyes narrowed for a moment longer before shutting the book and slipping it back in his pocket.

“I believe you. It’s probably foolish of me to do so so much in one day, but I do.”

“I’m honored,” Loki said sarcastically. 

It was nice, though, for someone to believe him when he was actually being sincere.

“How about the rest of your palace?” Hero asked, stepping to the right to peer into one of the doorways lining the hall. “What’s over here?”

Oh, this was funny. It was a fifty-fifty chance that he’d go in that direction, but after the exchange they’d just had, his choice was so apt.

“See for yourself,” Loki said.

Hero stepped inside, disappearing from view. A moment later, he snorted, grumbling, 

“Of course it is.”

Biting back a laugh, Loki followed him into the library, a three story gallery stretching along the entire length of the hall, stacks of books and scrolls lining the space in appealing rows broken only by comfortable armchairs, which he had taken a liking to in Midgard. A series of windows provided enough illumination to read comfortably during the day. For now, torches lit with enchanted fire cast a pleasant light over the room, painting Hero’s amused face in warm shadows that threw his fine features into sharp relief. Loki found himself distracted by the curves of his lips, the palest pink, like colored ash. There was no sense in imagining kissing them, for Hero had made his dislike for such an activity with him clear. It was such a difficult fantasy to push away, yet push he must. 

“I’m not the one who led you here,” Loki said, turning towards the less distracting bookshelves. “You did that all by yourself.”

“If you’re implying that I somehow sensed that there were books over here, that’s not how it works. I just picked a direction. I could have just as easily gone to the left.”

“We could go there now, if you prefer.”

“Before I get a good look at a god’s library? Nonsense.”

Hero wove through the stacks, eyeing the titles of the books, his right hand hovering over their spines but not quite touching them. Would something happen if he did? Could any of these books wake up and build themselves an avatar like Hero’s book had, or was that power reserved for tomes in the celestial libraries? 

“You had your own library in your palace, I take it?” Loki asked, walking beside him.

“Of course. Not as grand as this one, though. Books are harder to come by in my world. Still very sizable, though. There were more books than I had time to read.”

“I have read all of these. Well, except for a small stack near the door. Those are new acquisitions.”

“You have had much more time than me. How old are you? A few millennia? Since the dawn of time?”

“Of course not. None of us have been here since the dawn of time. I have parents. Grandparents. We don’t bother much with keeping track after we come of age, though, since it stops being important, so I’m not certain exactly how old I am. A bit over a millennium, I think.”

“You have me beat.”

“How does aging work for you? Depending on how long the time range your book spans is, you could be all sorts of different ages at once, couldn’t you?”

“I guess so. I hadn’t really thought of it. Like with you, it’s not really that important. I was born when my author started writing me. I was thirty-two already. Then she made me young, then older again. It’s hard to explain. Then there’s… well, everyone else.”

“Everyone else?”

A frown troubled Hero’s brow as he met his eyes. 

“I’m me. This character. This appearance. This personality. But I’m also the book. The whole book. The hero. The victims. The characters who you only see once and then they’re gone from the reader’s sight. I’m all of them. I feel their thoughts, their desires, their fears. They’re all in me.”

Fascinating Loki should have thought of it before. Books didn’t project simply one character into the physical realm, but the entirety of itself embodied in that character. 

“You have all their voices speaking to you at once?”

“Not speaking, necessarily. It’s more like a murmur in the back of my mind. A feeling. I can feel them inside me, the same consciousness yet also different.”

He scowled, distraught, scared even. He was withholding something, a half truth. 

“So I’m speaking to all of you at once.”

“Sort of. Not really, though. It’s not like I have different voices being part of the conversation. I told you it was hard to explain.”

“I probably wouldn’t be able to understand it completely in any case. It is most difficult to comprehend the nature of an existence that is so different to one’s own. I can only wonder at what it must be like to be you.”

“Likewise. I’ll never have the luxury of being able to come back from the dead.”

“It’s not coming back exactly.”

“But you’re still here.”

Which Hero almost wasn’t.

“Well, yes. I see your point. However, under the right circumstances, literature is eternal.”

“There hasn’t been anything right about the circumstances so far,” Hero grumbled, bitterness lacing his tone. “Though at least my escape is proving quite interesting.”

Loki smirked in satisfaction. 

“I’m happy to oblige.”

Hero stopped walking. His hand rested on a couple of books, fingers splayed across the spines, obscuring the titles. His eyes lost focus, but his body was alert. Was he speaking to the books right now? Loki kept very still and quiet, afraid to disturb him, but inside he bubbled with excitement. He’d never witnessed anything like this before, never in the millennium of life that Hero found so impressive. A living book interacting with another book, one of Loki’s, no less, as easily as if he were conversing with Loki. 

“Fascinating,” Hero murmured, seeming to lift from his trance as he lowered his hand.

“What is?” Loki asked.

Hero’s eyes glimmered with devilish merriment.

“Did you really have a foal with a horse?”

Oh for-- Loki gritted his teeth. He could see the book’s title now. A human authored book on Norse myths. Why had he kept that thing around? He’d only acquired it to be forewarned on the ridiculous fantasies that humanity had concocted. 

“I most certainly did not,” Loki said, yanking the book from the shelf and disappearing it to the rubbish bin in his cellar to be dealt with later. “Nor did I have any of the other children those humans accuse me of. Or any at all.”

“So you didn’t have sex with a horse, then?” 

Loki stiffened, swallowing a scream. How many centuries had it been since Volstagg had started that rumor, only for the damn humans to canonize it in songs to taunt him forever?

“You would be wise to ignore everything you just gleaned from that libelous book. I don’t even know what it was doing here.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Loki didn’t know what was more infuriating. Being goaded like this, or the fact that Hero looked delectable with that mischievous gleam in his eyes, his lips curled in a delicious smile that Loki most certainly did not stare at lest he upset Hero again. Not that he would be against pushing back into Hero’s comfort zone as payback, but not like that. 

“I’m a shapeshifter. You think I would limit my pleasures to only this form?”

“Fair enough.”

The smile didn’t fade from Hero’s face, yet there was no mockery about it. Nor did he continue to tease Loki, unlike everyone else. Instead, he stepped toward one of the windows, retreating from the subject. Diplomatic. Polite. Loki had made it clear that this line of questioning was unwelcome, so Hero had ceased. Not even his questions had been disrespectful, now that Loki thought of it. Hero had simply asked if it was true, with surprised amusement, yes, not but not at Loki’s expense. No loud guffaw. No “So what’s that like?” or “Who topped?” or “You should stay a horse next time, you look better that way.” Hero had simply stopped prodding.

“That’s a hell of a view.”

Hero’s exclamation jolted Loki out of his amazed reverie. 

“Yes, it is,” Loki said, not as nonchalant as he’d tried to be as he joined him at the window. 

He immersed himself in the landscape sweeping before them, letting it relax his tense muscles. It was funny how even after death, one’s form continued to ache and need. His hall was perched on a mountaintop overlooking a long, winding river that snaked in the midst of a wide valley. Trees stretched out in every direction in a thick forest that Loki was eagerly learning to navigate. He had chosen a location far from the ruckus of the other aristocratic homes and even further from the city, desiring to be left well alone whenever he needed it. 

“Is it nicer than the view from your palace?” Loki asked, subtly teasing. 

He was rewarded with a sharp, yet diverted glance, and a soft smile.

“Maybe a little. Its location was determined by strategic advantage, not aesthetics. I suppose you don’t have to worry about being under siege here.”

“You’d be surprised. Even here, annoying visitors come to call.”

A smile jerked on Hero’s lips. 

“There’s no escape from those. So is anything in that book true? What did you do with it, by the way?”

“I sent it to the basement. Don’t worry, your new friend is unharmed.”

Hero frowned.

“Friend?”

“Well, you two seemed rather chatty. You were communicating with it, were you not? You didn’t exact it read it.”

“We did communicate. Not in the same way that we’re doing now, but we did converse. They’re more of an acquaintance, though. We just met, after all. And it’s not their fault that their author had such a rich imagination. So, is anything else in there true?”

Loki folded his arms behind his back to hide the peeved stiffness in his fingers. 

“Very little. Although…” A gleeful smile grew on Loki’s face. “The story about Thor having to disguise himself as a blushing bride to get Mjolnir back is mostly true.”

Laughter danced in Hero’s eyes. 

“Is it? I was sure that was one of the false ones.”

“Not at all. He was furious at having to play the part. It was hilarious. He would much rather have attacked the palace from the beginning, fool that he was back then.” 

Nostalgia rose in Loki’s chest like a sudden fever, an outburst of heartache that he wasn’t prepared to experience right now. This was supposed to be a funny anecdote, not an annoying moment of sentimentality. He didn’t care if the afterlife was supposed to be about self-reflection and all that nonsense that the elders went on about. Not now. Not when he was in the midst of the first nice, relaxed conversation he’d had in ages, with a gorgeous man no less. No, even better. A book. A living, awoken book who was witty and had a healthy respect for sarcasm. He wasn’t going to ruin it by getting maudlin. 

Except that he had done so already, for instead of replying, Hero stayed silent, his solemn expression of recognition saying it all. Loki had to liven the mood, and quickly, before it got worse. But before he could change the subject, Hero rubbed his eyes, exhaustion creeping into his face. There had been shadows under his eyes for some time, but he had been lively enough. How much of that had been a stubborn refusal to show weakness? 

“I have been remiss,” Loki said. “I offered you a place to rest, yet I have not done so.”

He began to lead Hero through the library towards the bedrooms, which were behind the hall. 

“I take it you’re putting me up for the night.”

“Of course. What kind of host would I be if didn’t?”

“Thank you. I’m not sure how much I’ll sleep, though. I’ve only done it once outside my book.”

“Would it be more restful for you to rest inside your book?”

A shadow crossed Hero’s face, so quick that it was gone in a moment, but Loki was instantly on his guard for the lie he knew was coming, for this sort of reaction only preceded desperate evasion.

“Maybe, but I’ll give sleeping out here a shot. I like being out here. There’s less of a chance that someone will try to murder me in my sleep.”

Practiced nonchalance. As a prince, Loki had learned the craft of it nearly as soon as he could walk. Surely Hero didn’t think that he could fool him with such basic trickery. Hero didn’t want to withdraw into his book. Either that, or he couldn’t. He should have after his duel, or even during it. He had come within a hair’s breadth of dying, permanently. Loki may not be an expert, but he knew that much. Characters withdrew into their books automatically when greatly injured so they could heal. Which indicated that Hero couldn’t, in fact, return to his book. Why not? After all, he was the book. Had the book been damaged in some way? Was he being prevented from returning by some spell, and, if so, was it of the librarian’s doing? Was it part of her desire to use Hero for her own ends?

“No guests have ever been killed under my roof,” Loki said, following his lead even as he continued to speculate.

“How many have you had?”

“The exact number is irrelevant.”

“Is that number zero?”

Loki smiled.

“Like I said, no guests have ever been killed under my roof.”

A laugh erupted from Hero, full and rich and utterly entrancing.

“I like you.”

Loki almost stumbled mid-stride. This wasn’t the sort of thing that people told him, not with any measure of sincerity if they knew anything about him, and Hero knew enough. Not even half an hour ago, he kept grumbling about Loki’s supposedly nefarious intentions. He couldn’t be saying that honestly. Could he? It sounded honest. Hero’s expression looked honest. There was no trace of subterfuge that Loki could see, but it couldn’t actually be the truth. Loki was a means to an end for him, an entertaining one, perhaps, but that was it. It’s all he ever was to anyone other than mother and Thor. Someone who had known him for what, an hour, could hardly be any different. The only reason why Hero was here was because he needed Loki, and not in the fun way. 

“Seriously, though,” Hero said, unaware of Loki’s scattered suspicions. “People may not have seen us walk out of the hall, but they did see us together. My former warden isn’t the kind to give up easily. She’ll come storming up here if she can.”

Loki latched onto the change in subject.

“Well, she can’t. As a god of the realm, I am not to be disturbed by outsiders. The raven flock that guards the entrance won’t let her or any of her party come to any of the godly residences without permission.”

“What about Bjorn? He was a librarian, too. He’ll probably see it as his responsibility too to take me back.”

That was lamentable. Bjorn the Bard was one of the few people in this realm whose company Loki enjoyed, and who had been excited to meet him rather than cringing and dreading that Loki was going to do something nefarious to him. What Loki knew of books like Hero came from him. And now Loki was using this knowledge against Bjorn’s former library. Hardly premeditated, but Bjorn wouldn’t take it well regardless. 

“Bjorn could come,” Loki said, “but only so far as the gate. It’s barred against anyone other than the rulers of the realm. I can’t keep them out. And coming to yell at me to give you back wouldn’t be very politic. It is possible, though, that they will try to seek an audience with my father. Or my mother. But that wouldn’t be until morning, and even if they do so, there’s no guarantee that their petition will be heard or that my parents would care. As far as my crimes go, helping you escape is so minor that they’d probably be relieved that it wasn’t something worse.”

“So they’ll just let me stay here? What if your parents do care?”

“Then I’ll sneak you away again. This is hardly the first time that I’ve gotten something past them. They can’t force you to go back.”

“Sure they can. They’re the lords of this realm, not you.”

“They won’t, then. You don’t trust my ability?”

“I don’t know enough about how this realm works to know what to trust. I only have some embellished tomes and your word to go on. I do know that this wouldn’t be the first time that you’ve failed to get away with something. I’m being realistic. No matter how amusing you find me, what if you would rather not deal with the repercussions?”

“Why did you bother coming here if you didn’t trust me to follow through?”

“It was a gamble. And I needed this.” He raised his left wrist. “And you’re pretty amusing yourself. And it was better than waiting around for whatever new, deadly task my warden had for me. Like I said, I’m being realistic. I like to see all the cards on the table.”

“And you expect to see them from me? You know better than that. As if you ever showed all of yours, anyway.”

Hero shrugged. 

“Worth a shot. You’ve been so eager to demonstrate how non-deceitful you’re being so far.”

“You’re enjoying that, are you?”

An insufferable little smirk flashed on Hero’s lips. God, Loki wanted to kiss it. 

“I entertain you. You entertain me.”

Loki smirked back.

“Do I need to deliver another grand oath to get you to believe me this time? On that note, how can I be sure that you’ll follow through on the favor you owe me?”

“I told you. I don’t like being indebted to people.”

“No one does. That doesn’t mean one always follows through.”

“So my word isn’t good enough for you?”

“Mine wasn’t good enough for you.” 

Was Loki imagining things, or did Hero’s colors come out when he was fired up? His cheeks were positively flushed with annoyed pride.

“Shall I make a grand oath to you, then?” Hero said, his voice growing richer, a melodious blend between teasing and sarcasm.

“It’s only fair. I made one, after all.”

“Sure, I suppose. Well, then. It wouldn’t be very authentic to swear on my mother. I don’t remember her. She died when I was young.”

What an unimaginatively tragic backstory for a villain from a book called _Nightfall_. 

“My father and I weren’t close,” Hero continued. “But there is someone. A friend. Owen.”

Hero’s voice thickened as he said the name, his expression grave, the sort one had when the person they spoke of was dead. 

“I hate to be indelicate,” Loki said, his tone reflecting genuine unease with this subject, “but I have no proof that this person is someone important to you. Or even exists.”

Hero’s gaze bore into Loki’s eyes, his eyes narrowing and growing as ragged as a cliff face fresh from an avalanche. With a jerky movement, he pulled out his book and flipped it open. 

Wait. He was going to let Loki read it? Read him? This wasn’t the same as Hero conversing with a book of tall tales about Asgard. This was part of his actual being. Surely this was too intimate an act even to prove that he wasn’t lying. 

Hero pulled at the pages so harshly that he winced, the action affecting him the same way as if Loki were shredding into his own skin with his teeth.

“You don’t have to—” Loki said.

Hero cut him off, thrusting the open book at him. 

“Start halfway through the left page.” 

Hero’s words were clipped, frail yet hard, brooking no argument. The time to object had come and gone, if it had existed at all after Loki’s misguided insistence. Yet a millennium of instincts hammered into him by betrayal urged him to be cautious, even if Hero’s rough behavior seemed like confirmation enough that he spoke truthfully. Carefully, Loki took the book, its weight light yet heavy with the emotions shining in Hero’s withdrawn gaze, which hovered somewhere near the floor yet not there at all. The paper was smooth to the touch, the lettering modern and crisp like the sort you’d find on a new book on Midgard, much too nice for the tragedy that they described. 

A nobleman by the name of Owen cut down in an attack by the protagonist and his gang, who were clearly meant to be the heroes in this tale. The king leaving what remained of his guard behind to beat the heroes away, killing two in the process before rushing to Owen’s side, stricken as painfully as the gushing wound in Owen’s side. It was hard to read the king’s, Hero’s, raw, anguished emotion as Owen died in his arms with him standing right in front of him, arms crossed over his chest, body so tense that it might snap, eyes unblinking as if afraid to betray tears. 

“I’m so sorry,” Loki said, abashed by his blunder and uncertain on how to proceed. The good credit he had gained with Hero might evaporate after this. 

Hero grabbed the book, shut it, and shoved it in his pocket, not once looking at Loki. 

“You believe me now?” Hero asked, as tightly as a sail yanked taut in a fierce wind.

He barely glanced at Loki from the corner of his eye. Loki nodded. Speaking right now might make it worse. Hero raised his chin in a curt acknowledgment. 

“Let’s see this guest room, then,” Hero said, stepping forward without waiting for Loki to lead. “I’m exhausted.”

````````````````

Loki awoke with the sun. Sleep had been troublesome. Even in the afterlife, his spirit required rest, yet insomnia was a constant companion when trouble was afoot. You’d think that being in a paradise realm would grant you a reprieve from this, but the universe was fickle and petty, even here. Yet he had slept, even if the quality of it had been paltry at best. He needed to be fresh and alert when trouble arose, for it would. There was no avoiding it. Even if he had snuck Hero out of the realm last night, Loki had to return to Valhalla eventually. Odin wouldn’t throw him in prison again for something so trivial, but mother would be displeased, and that wasn’t something that Loki wished to do. She might be upset anyway, but he had a greater chance of sweettalking her if he did so right away. It might even have been better to speak to her last night, but there was the possibility, although slim, that the librarian would decide that recovering Hero was too much bother, and mother would be none the wiser. 

Rising from his bed, Loki slipped on a robe against the morning chill and walked to the balcony doors, sheets of glass stretching from floor to ceiling, bathing the room in the soft light of the dawn. He inspected the sky. Shapes flew in the distance, birds in a flock. Nothing to worry about. Messengers would come singly, possibly masking their approach. Fath—

Odin.

The hell with it. Father wouldn’t be up yet, but mother liked to greet the dawn. The light was purest then, she said, and Loki agreed. Still, it might still be too early for her to have heard of Loki’s latest indiscretion. 

Would it be too early for Hero to be awake, though? Loki had left him in a spare bedroom rather late last night, and Hero claimed that he did sleep, but for how long? After his oath last night, there was no point fearing that he would run, so that was some consolation. It was certainly too early to disturb him, so Loki would have to distract himself in the meantime as he awaited the summons that were likely to arrive. He dressed in a simple tunic, pale green with silver embroidery and soft, leather boots. Not his usual style while awaiting a royal reprimand, but he didn’t want Hero to think that he’d dressed up in an attempt to impress him. Even if the color did bring out his eyes. He tied his hair back at his nape with a leather tie shaped like small serpents, arranging the heads to trail through his hair. That would be adornment enough. 

His attempt at distraction proved fruitless, for Hero was sitting in the library, a large tome open on the table before him. He pressed his hand to one of the pages, gaze unfocused as he gazed upon it, a soft chuckle echoing in the stillness of the room. He had left his sword behind, but otherwise he looked the same as yesterday, save for the renewed vigor in his frame. He leaned back on the chair, legs wide, feet tapping to some unheard music in a picture of relaxation that had not been on his face yesterday. He looked more approachable, happier, and even more beautiful. When Loki entered, he looked up, startled, but not on his guard, which was a nice change. His feet stopped tapping as he slid his hand off the book.

“Sorry,” he said, still grinning and not looking apologetic at all. “I got bored, so I decided to come say hi. I didn’t talk with anyone about you, don’t worry.”

Talk with anyone. Oh, if only Loki could converse with his books the same way that Hero could.

“Perhaps you should,” Loki said. “To take those silly notions you got last night out of your head.”

“There’s no hope for that, I’m afraid. Those silly notions are here to stay.”

Hero closed the book. It was an old Asgardian novel written when Loki was a youth, a tale of two sisters who ran away to Vanaheim in search of treasure. Hero must have been taping along to the market fair scene, which included musical entertainment. Loki hadn’t read it in centuries. He’d forgotten he had it. His library had mostly come from Asgard, somehow materializing here after his death despite Asgard’s destruction having preceded him. He might be a god of the realm, but many facets about the functioning of it still eluded him. 

“What, or should I say who, have you been speaking to?” Loki asked, leaning against the table, perusing the titles on the table.

“Fighting manuals,” Hero said. “Especially ones on how to fight ridiculously huge beings like I had to do yesterday. If I never have another run in with a giant, it will be too soon.”

Loki tensed, but he strove not to show it. While he may technically hail from a giant species, his puny stature hardly lived up to the name. No one would ever confuse him with one, even if they saw the blue skin and red eyes he wasn’t sure how to feel about. 

“I did find some Asgardian history books,” Hero continued.

“They’re not as accurate as I used to believe,” Loki said. “Especially regarding the early part of my father’s reign.”

Hero raised an eyebrow in curiosity.

“They never are. Is this a tale you care to share or…”

Loki sighed. 

“It’s a long story. It’s much too early to dig into that hornet’s nest. In short, my father lied. Hid vital information from his family. Doomed us all. Nothing new.”

Hero huffed a laugh. 

“He sounds like an upstanding guy. Sure gives me a lot of confidence for today. Speaking of, any angry missives from said trustworthy king about me?”

“Nothing yet.” 

Loki stood up and walked to the nearest window, scanning the sky. Hero followed him. 

“Are you expecting a messenger bird?” Hero asked. “One of your father’s ravens?”

“Possibly.”

As if summoned, and that very well could be the case, a speck of black appeared in the sky, approaching much too swiftly to be an ordinary bird. A raven.

“That’s spooky,” Hero said. “Is that it?”

Loki raised his chin, schooling his expression into one of calm. 

“Yes.” 

“Can it tell that we were talking about it? That timing was too spot on.”

Loki opened the window. A blast of cold air hit his face, ruffling a hair strand out of his ponytail. 

“I wouldn’t rule it out. The ravens of Asgard and Valhalla have abilities beyond even the gods. They wouldn’t be very good messengers if they didn’t possess uncanny eavesdropping abilities.”

Mere seconds later, the raven landed on the windowsill and fixed the two of them with a sharp, assessing look. They weren’t Hunin nor Munin, but Sigrid, mother’s preferred messenger. Loki allowed himself a silent breath of relief. Things weren’t as dire as he’d feared. Yet. 

“Good morning, Sigrid,” Loki said agreeably. 

He did like Sigrid, but she was a tough bird, never swayed by flattery.

“The goodness of the morning has yet to be determined,” Sigrid said in the raspy style of corvids. “So I shall limit myself to wishing you greetings.”

She did have a streak of the pedantic about her, which was either irritating or amusing depending on the topic at hand. In the current one, it made Loki wary, but it was too early to be alarmed. 

“In that case,” Hero said, “I shall also limit myself to a simple hello. This morning might turn out horribly for all we know.”

“Exactly.”

“Your capacity to comfort is undiminished, I see,” Loki said with a wry smile.

“If you want comfort, seek another raven. So this is the book.” 

She turned her sharp face toward Hero and perched on the side of the window at eye level with him, peering forward to examine him. It was quite the intimidating pose. Hero glanced nervously at Loki. 

“I am Hero,” he said, not betraying any of his trepidation in his voice.

Sigrid humphed. 

“Your title is Hero?”

“My name is Hero. I am both the book and a character from it.”

“How Shakespearian.” Sigrid turned to Loki. “The queen wishes to know why you have blocked the librarian’s access to Hero. He belongs in her wing of the interrealm library.”

“I belong to myself,” Hero’s voice rose sharply. 

Sigrid turned to him, her thoughts about his outburst impossible to decipher. 

“Hero wants to be free of the library,” Loki said. “So I helped him.”

“Altruism isn’t your usual habit,” Sigrid said. 

“He demanded a favor,” Hero said. “So he’s hardly being selfless.”

“See?” Loki said, grinning. “It’s all very selfish of me.”

Despite Sigrid’s inability to mimic facial expressions, she did an admirable job of fixing him with a withering glare.

“Lying and sarcasm won’t help you in this instance,” she said in her best lecturer tone, as if he were a small child. “I suggest you stick to honesty this time if you wish to help him. And yourself.”

“Lying?” Hero asked, shooting a surprised look at Loki. “Are you saying that he’s lying about being selfish?”

Avoiding Hero’s gaze would only confirm Sigrid’s assessment, so Loki met his eyes head on.

“Well, we have established that I sympathize with your plight,” Loki said. “There’s no need to look so shocked.”

Sigrid humphed again, ruffling her feathers in disapproval. What was wrong with what Loki had just said? It was true. 

“Your parents request an audience with the two of you,” she said. “Now.”

Loki sighed. The firm declaration shifted Hero’s curious perusing of Loki’s face to trepidation. 

“It will be fine,” Loki told him, almost reaching out to touch his shoulder, but the gesture might not be welcome. 

Sigrid’s gaze bore into him like a Norn unwinding the truth of his life, but he didn’t have a life anymore, only death. He held out his hand.

“I’ll transport us both there,” he said.

Hero’s jaw clenched before he straightened his back and smoothed his brow, attempting to adopt an air of nonchalance that really worked much better if one was trained to do so from birth. Hero had yet to manage it in Loki’s presence, but Loki was certainly not going to point it out now. Hero took his hand, his grip firm, if a bit sweaty. Books sweated. Who knew. Sigrid landed on Loki’s shoulder, providing a telepathic location of where his parents were in the palace. Loki grabbed onto that thread, wound the route between here and there, and transported them. 

They arrived in mother’s study, which overlooked a wide waterfall that shone with every color of the rainbow in the morning sun. Mother sat on a lounging chair, a book on her lap, which she closed the moment they arrived, standing up. 

“That was quick,” she said, stepping towards them, a smile on her face. “I thought Sigrid would have to drag you here.”

“Or that she’d find me gone?” Loki said, unable to help smiling back despite the tense circumstances.

“Or that.”

Mother pulled him into a hug. Loki sank into it with all the ardor of the grief that had almost claimed his sanity in a haze of fury and shame after he’d blamed himself for her death. Even after nearly a year after being reunited with her in Valhalla, he couldn’t quite believe that she was truly standing before him, that she didn’t blame him. He’d never be so foolish as to lose her again. She hugged him back with no less show of love. Tears pricked his eyes before he blinked them away. She turned to Hero as she pulled back, assessing him with an understanding look in her eye that made Loki groan inwardly.

“You must be the book that’s causing such a stir,” she said to him.

Hero executed a short bow, showing charm that he had yet to grace Loki with. 

“I am, your highness,” he said. 

“There’s no need for that. You might as well call me Frigga.”

“It’s not like that,” Loki said, giving up on ignoring the awkwardness of the situation.

Mother cast a questioning brow at him, not convinced, but smoothed out her expression upon noticing Hero’s awkward one. 

“This is Hero, mother,” Loki said quickly. “He is a fully realized being with his own desires, and he wishes to be free of the library.”

“Yes,” Hero said. “I escaped once before being dragged back. I won’t go back again.”

“We’re not so sure it’s up to you.”

Loki tensed at the sound of his father’s voice. Odin had made very good use of his stealth skills to sneak in behind them as quietly as possible, for Loki hadn’t even heard the door open. He and Hero turned toward him. 

“It should be,” Hero said, not hiding any of his frustration. “I won’t be put back to sleep at a librarian’s whim.”

“It’s a bit more than a whim,” mother said. “Your author is still alive, is she not?”

A shadow flickered behind Hero’s eyes. 

“She is.”

“So your story might still be completed. Would it be able to be so if you’re here?”

Hero looked lost at the question.

“I…I don’t know.”

“In that case,” Odin said, “you need to go back. If you run off, you’re depriving your author of the chance to finish her story.”

“That’s why I left the library in the first place. To convince her to keep writing me.”

“You went to see your author?” Loki asked, surprised.

“Yes.”

“And was she convinced?” father asked.

Hero looked down again, hands flexing at his sides. 

“I don’t know. I don’t think…” He raised his eyes. They shone with anguish. “If my staying here depends on the likelihood that my author will keep writing me, I don’t think there’s much of one.”

“Why not?” mother asked. 

Hero frowned, his jaw clenching, subdued with despair, as if he were about to unveil a truth he hadn’t wished to admit even to himself. 

“I revealed myself to her,” he said slowly. “In a way. When the librarian cornered me, I convinced her to let me say goodbye, so I took the chance. It was the only thing I could think of to do. She was so close to writing. So close. But I hadn’t fully convinced her yet. So I…” He sucked in an aching breath. “I ripped out my first pages.”

Mother gasped. Loki nearly joined her. They all gaped at Hero, aghast. Was that not equivalent to cutting off his own arm? 

No, it must be even worse. Ripping out an organ. A lung. Something crucial for survival. 

“You harmed yourself?” Loki asked. “Was it truly so desperate?”

The burning look Hero flashed at him would have taken Loki’s breath away if he weren’t already so shocked.

“I wanted to live. Want to live. Yes, it’s desperate. I needed to do something. But I made a mistake.” His hands flexed at his sides again, aching, agonizing to express a hurt so deep within him that Loki was amazed he hadn’t seen it earlier. “My author. She burned them. My pages.”

Loki’s eyes widened. A sound of horror very nearly escaped his mouth then.

“She probably thought herself mad,” father said. 

Fury rose within Loki. Did he think that Hero hadn’t considered that? Yet neither his voice nor his expression was unkind, but sympathetic. Hero’s hands were pale fists, self-reproach and ire etched on every inch of his body. 

“I never thought that would happen,” Hero said. “Ever. If I had… But that’s why there’s no point considering that she might finish writing me. She won’t after that. I fucked up. So this is all I have. This life outside my book. I can’t even go back.”

“That’s why you had to be seen to by healers after the duel,” Loki realized. “I wondered why you didn’t heal yourself by going into your book.”

“I didn’t know that’s something like that could happen,” mother said, horrified. 

“Neither did I,” father said. “Yet you continue to exist like this. I’ve only met a couple of books who are awake as you, but you don’t look any different from them.”

“You mean I’m not transparent or threatening to evaporate into mist at any moment?”

Father looked no more diverted by Hero’s biting humor than when Loki aimed for the same.

“Something like that. You look whole. But you can’t be.”

“No, I’m not. I wasn’t whole to begin with. That’s why I went to meet her. But it backfired and I can’t get back into my book. It doesn’t want me. The librarian tried to fix me, big load of help that was, and when that didn’t work, she brought me along on this little quest of hers because she needed the muscle. And made me fight a duel that had nothing to do with me, in which I almost died, by the way.”

“It really would have killed you?” mother asked. “It would even have destroyed the part of you that is the book itself?”

“As far as I know. I can’t repair myself from a killing blow if I can’t return to my book. The best I could hope for was being stuck in a com, my author stuck in an eternal writer’s block as far as I was concerned. Not that it matters. I may have turned her off to writing all together.”

The misery of that statement oozed off of Hero like a toxic miasma, shuttering his eyes, sagging his head and his shoulders with it. His fists remained clenched as he crossed his arms, retreating into himself, looking around the room as if searching for a means to escape, shrinking away from their pitying gazes like salt on his wounds. Loki didn’t hold back his urge this time. If Hero shook off his hand or glared at him, Loki wouldn’t touch him again, but the look Hero gave him when his head jerked towards him at the press of his hand on his shoulder was anything but. He startled like a skittish deer, but immediately relaxed, gratitude softening his eyes. He regarded Loki with such helpless need that Loki’s breath dried in his throat, hitting him like a punch to the gut. Hero leaned into his hand, taking half a step toward Loki, and he squeezed Loki’s shoulder in turn in silent thanks with a stiff, yet palpable nod. In that moment, Loki would have raised his blades to anyone who tried to hurt Hero, reddening them with his enemies’ blood. 

From the corner of his eye, he saw mother move towards father, the two exchanging a knowing look. There was no need to decipher what it meant. Mother thought her initial assumption about Loki’s interest in Hero to be correct. Well, she wasn’t wrong. Perhaps such attraction might not even be as pointless as Loki had feared. But he’d waded in deep, what was meant to be merely a distraction now a deep well rising up to his throat, water lapping at his mouth. It would drown him if he wasn’t careful. He’d once yearned to drown so, had relished it, but the agony had been too great and terrifying to ever feel safe to attempt it again. Yet now he was dead, and it had been such dreary joy so far. Did weighing the risk even matter anymore? 

Mother nudged her head to the side, gesturing to father to speak in a corner of the room, privacy granted by a silence enchantment, for Loki couldn’t hear their voices as they spoke. Hero turned nervous eyes toward him, squeezing Loki’s shoulder before letting go. 

“What do think?” he whispered, glancing at Loki’s parents. 

“Mother’s on our side,” Loki whispered back. “And father doesn’t look like he wants to yell at me, which is good.”

They certainly didn’t look like they were adverse to Hero’s plea. Mother was even smiling. Father shook his head, but he looked amused by something mother said. That was never how they looked when discussing any of Loki’s mischievous activities. They had noticed the way that Loki and Hero had touched each other, how Loki had given him comfort, not something he did easily these days, if at all. Mother had that same look on her face whenever Loki or Thor got a new beau. It was embarrassing. Maybe Hero wouldn’t notice. He was too preoccupied by more important things. 

“We’ve come to a decision,” father said, both he and mother turning towards them. 

Hero leaned closer to Loki, as tense as a bowstring. 

“The matter of the Unwritten Wing’s books,” father continued, “is not Valhalla’s business. We have no need or obligation to enforce any of its rules. They have nothing to do with us.”

Hero sagged in relief, a pent up breath escaping him. Loki smiled, the tension pooled in his gut unspooling. It froze when Hero grabbed him again, gripping his arm as if to hold himself up, nerves he hadn’t felt in over a century bubbling in his stomach. 

“Thank you, your highness,” Hero said, bowing his head, his sudden smile lighting up his face. 

Loki stared at him, entranced. Father waved the honorific away. 

“We officially grant you the freedom of the realm,” mother said, looking so pleased as she looked between Loki and Hero than Loki would have groaned if it weren’t for the creeping awkwardness and indecision warring in his mind. “So you may stay here for however long as you like. I’m sure Loki has already taken care of your accommodations.”

Oh, for… Could she not look at them with such an impish grin? Did all mothers see it as their sworn duty to embarrass their children? 

“As well as made sure that the library can’t track you,” father said. “A whisper bird’s feather, was it?” he asked Loki.

The nonchalance of the query took him by surprise. They had been slowly trying to repair their wildly fractured relationship despite everything. There had been too many resentments and attacks between them for it to be a swift process, of even a guarantee that they could get past it, but father had yet to reprimand Loki since his arrival in Valhalla, even for stealing his memories and stranding him on Earth while Loki usurped his throne. Loki had been filled with dread for weeks over the confrontation that felt so inevitable, yet either through mother’s influence or father’s own volition, father hadn’t mentioned it once. Their interactions were few, often stilted. Even as he spoke now, the awkwardness was palpable between them, but that simple comment felt like an outstretched hand. It had broken Loki not to receive it when the lie of his life crashed upon him. Yet resentments were harder to keep now. They didn’t make as much sense when he had no life to run towards, or away from. 

“It was,” Loki replied, fingers twitching behind his back, so obvious, but he kept his voice steady. 

Just a normal conversation, if those were still possible between them. Perhaps they might be one day. After all, it wasn’t only disinterest and mother’s goading that had convinced father to let Hero stay. 

Loki cleared his throat. 

“It worked perfectly to keep the librarian’s summons at bay.”

“I don’t see any reason why it shouldn’t keep working. Well, since that business is concluded, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve yet to have breakfast.”

“I’ll join you,” mother told him.

Father looked between Loki and Hero, his gaze lingering on Loki, again with that maddening, inscrutable look of indecision that plagued every interaction they had now. Before he could turn away, Loki held his gaze and dipped his head in a nod of acknowledgment. Of thanks. Father looked startled, then the rarest of things appeared on his face. A smile. A genuine smile, directed at his wayward son. It was now Loki who sought out Hero’s presence to keep himself steady, unmoving, yet seeking him out from the corner of his eye. Mother stepped forward and kissed Loki on the cheek, squeezing his shoulder, her smile as radiant as ever. 

“It was a pleasure to meet you, Hero,” she told him.

“You as well,” Hero said, bowing his head, still looking flummoxed. 

Mother followed father out the door, closing it behind her. The moment she did so, Hero burst into a peal of ecstatic laughter, clasping his hands over his mouth, trying to smother it before it grew too loud. He strode around the room, too energetic to stand still. 

“It worked,” he mumbled, voice growing louder. “It actually worked. I’m free. No more being bound to a shelf, being led by the nose on this stupid quest. Options and decisions will no longer be denied to me. I’m being respected as an actual person, not some thing for other’s amusement.”

Loki’s smile turned bittersweet. He could hardly commiserate with his own, former inability to dictate his own life, for Hero’s prison had been far worse. 

“I’m happy for you,” Loki said.

Hero stopped pacing and looked at him with awe and surprise and wonder. 

“You really mean that. It’s not just a polite phrase.”

“There’s no need to look so surprised. I can quite capable of emotions.”

“Of course you are. You wouldn’t be very interesting otherwise. But this wasn’t just self-serving, was it? I was sure it was. It’s so often the case with people like us.”

“Not always.”

Hero’s lips rose in a lopsided smile.

“No. Not always. I did initially draw your attention because I’m a book.”

It wasn’t a question.

“I confess, that is so. But you’re much more than that. I drew your attention because I had something you needed.”

Hero huffed a laugh.

“A delightful bargain I didn’t expect to get. But you’re more fascinating to me beyond that.”

Hero stepped towards him, that appreciative gaze sweeping across Loki’s face again. Loki’s jaw tightened with want and confusion. 

“Is there something more you want from me?” he asked. “It’s hard to tell.”

Hero looked away. He faltered, uncertain, before seeming to come to a decision.

“Not the same thing you wanted from me back at the bar.”

“And what was that, exactly?”

“Please. Do we really need to go into detail? You wanted to take me to bed. Have a tumble. Then likely discard me in the morning, or whenever you were finished with me. I don’t do that. Sex. It has no appeal to me in the slightest.”

Well, that was confirmed.

“I thought so,” Loki said softly. “Yet when you look at me, you clearly enjoy what you’re seeing. So you’re not completely disinterested in my physical form.”

A deliciously mischievous smile graced Hero’s lips. 

“I appreciate people’s appearance, including yours. And I do like doing some things, just not that. I don’t like people propositioning me. It makes me feel cheap. I do appreciate how you backed off and apologized. Most people don’t bother.”

“I know what it’s like to not have your limits respected. And I’d never do something like that.”

The contemplative way that Hero kept looking at him was maddening.

“So,” Loki continued. “Is this conversation leading towards you admitting that you want to do certain things with me?”

Hero’s eyes widened, uncertain. Shit. Loki had pushed too soon again.

“Yes,” Hero said. 

Loki held his breath.

“But I don’t like associating like that with people I’m indebted to. And I owe you twice over. For this.” Hero raised his right wrist. “And standing by me as your parents decided my fate. I really am thankful for that. I don’t care what you say. That’s an awful lot of effort simply to stop being bored.”

“Oh, you haven’t seen how bored I can get. But you don’t owe me for that. It was my pleasure.”

Hero considered him carefully, and Loki struggled not to jerk away, the pleasant parlance shifting into the rumination of serious topics Loki would adore to get away from.

“I’m sorry about what happened with your author,” he said. 

Hero looked down, arms crossing again, sorrow seeping into his face. He nodded tightly.

“Thanks. It was stupid to think that would work.”

There was no denying that. Best not to point it out, though. Besides, Hero hardly had the market for stupidity cornered. Loki glanced at the opposite wall, where a bookcase stood. If Hero was so insistent on wanting to be indebted to him... Well, the favor was only ever meant to string him along. Loki had never actually needed anything, until he’d wanted his trust. And no other, unspoken things. Loki could do without what Hero didn’t want. He just wanted something, whatever Hero was happy to give him. Good company like this came along maybe once a century, and not always in such a lovely form. 

“Do me a favor,” Loki said.

Hero perked up, eyes narrowing.

“A favor?” he asked, emphasizing the word.

Loki nodded.

“Fetch me that book on the top shelf. The one with the green cover.”

Hero turned to look for it, then frowned back at him, incredulous.

“You want me to get you a book?”

Loki shrugged.

“I have a sudden urge to read.”

“You want me to do you a favor by walking across the room and grabbing a book for you?”

“Yes. It’s really simple, Hero. Go on.”

Hero gaped at him.

“You… I… I swore to… And all you want is…”

With a huff and a mumbled curse, Hero swept toward the bookcase, reached for the book, and stormed back to Loki, thrusting the book into his hands. 

“There you go,” he said. “Your favor has been granted. Are you fucking kidding me?”

Loki grinned. 

“It fits the parameters we established,” he said innocently.

Hero burst out laughing. He shook his head and rubbed his eyes before meeting Loki’s own. Then he grabbed Loki’s shoulders, the contact sending a frisson of want down Loki’s body, and regarded him with quiet wonder. 

Loki didn’t dare move. Hero had to lead. And he did. He leaned forward and kissed him. No motion. Just a simple, aching pressure of lips. Loki gasped against him, giving his lips an experimental nudge, but Hero lowered his hand to Loki’s chest, urging him still. Loki obliged. He hadn’t known what to expect. For Hero’s mouth to be cold or hot or something in between, but it was warmer than his own, burning with the passion only found in those desperate to live. Loki touched Hero’s waist, hoping that this touch was allowed. Hero leaned closer, rubbing Loki’s cheek with his nose before pulling away, breathless, a state that Loki shared most heartedly. He regarded Loki with a silent question. Loki grinned at him. 

“I would very much welcome more of that,” he said, stroking Hero’s back with teasing fingers.

Hero smirked.

“You’re going to be so much fun.”


End file.
